


Stockholm Syndrome

by fuchs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, IKEA, M/M, Meet-Cute, gratuitous mentions of cowhide pouffes, the Hale family is a character in and of itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuchs/pseuds/fuchs
Summary: "He’s reaching his hand slowly towards the handle when all of a sudden there comes a garbled cry and something bursts out of the wardrobe, slamming into Derek’s chest. He topples over with the force of impact and ends up flat on his back on the scuffed lino of his local IKEA, his arms wrapped around a complete stranger."aka I combined Sterek and crack and Swedish furniture and ended up with this drabble





	Stockholm Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [systems](https://archiveofourown.org/users/systems/gifts).



> this work was originally posted on [tumblr](http://www.mermaid-reyes.tumblr.com) where an anon prompted me with "I came out of a closet in Ikea screaming 'for narnia' and fell on you" 
> 
> systems then asked if i'd also put this up on ao3 and i said 'of course!' and that's what you missed on glee
> 
> please note: the title of this work is a play on the IKEA product name of the cowhide pouffe because i'm lame and couldn't think of anything else, this work DOES NOT contain any mention of kidnapping or actual stockholm syndrome

"Aha! There it is. The Stockholm."

Derek drops his face into his hands as his mom strides towards a fake living room like she’s marching into battle. In the next fake living room over, his six-year-old cousin is screaming at the top of her lungs while his uncle Peter spins her around and around in a rotating armchair. 

Derek gets it, to a certain extent. Moving into his first ‘grown up’ apartment (his mom’s words, Derek thought the apartment he shared with two roommates in college was pretty damn ‘grown up’, he certainly paid enough ‘grown up’ rent for it) is exciting. He’s definitely pretty fucking ecstatic to stop living with his _entire_ family. Again. 

What Derek doesn’t get is why _everybody_ needed to come to IKEA to ‘help’ pick out furniture. He has suspicions that his dad and his sisters are only in this for the meatballs. 

He also doesn’t get why his mom thinks he needs a five hundred dollar cow hide _pouffe_. Just what exactly is she expecting him to do with a _pouffe_? He puts his feet on the coffee table like every other normal person. 

His mom looks up from where she’s running her hand reverently over the _pouffe_. "Should we get you two?"

Derek accepts his fate of an unnecessarily _pouffed_ apartment, grunts something about the bathroom, and flees. He power walks straight through the dining room and kitchen displays, only slowing down once he reaches the home office department. 

Just when he thinks he’s managed to outrun anyone with shared DNA, the high backed chair he’s standing next to swivels around abruptly. 

"Mr Hale. I’ve been expecting you," Laura drawls, stroking a fake cat and all. 

Derek grabs a Swedish translation of Moby Dick, lobs it at Laura’s head, and runs like hell. He gets a little caught up in the adrenalin rush for a while, bypassing his dad, who’s determinedly testing every single bed, and sidestepping Cora, who looks to be setting all the alarm clocks she can find and hiding them in hard to reach cupboards. When he eventually slows to a jog he’s in the flatpack display area. 

He rounds one more corner, just to be on the safe side, and stops in front of a dark wood wardrobe, holding his palm over the stitch in his side.

He’s trying to regulate his breathing and listen for any approaching family members when there’s a _thump_ from inside the wardrobe.

Derek pauses. He carefully presses one ear to the wood. The wardrobe _giggles_.

He’s reaching his hand slowly towards the handle when all of a sudden there comes a garbled cry and something bursts out of the wardrobe, slamming into Derek’s chest. He topples over with the force of impact and ends up flat on his back on the scuffed lino of his local IKEA, his arms wrapped around a complete stranger. 

"Um," Derek says, struggling to catch his breath for the second time in as many minutes. 

The stranger leans up on his elbows and stares down at Derek with shocked, brown eyes. "You’re not Scott," he says.

"I’m not Scott," Derek agrees. 

"This would be significantly less embarrassing if you were Scott," the stranger says, and right on cue his cheeks start turning a delicate shade of pink.

"Sorry?"

"It’s cool, dude, we can’t all be Scott," the stranger says agreeably and pats Derek on the chest. Then he seems to lose himself for a minute, palm smoothing back and forth over Derek’s left pec. 

"Um," Derek says again.

The stranger realises where his hands have been wandering, turns a violent shade of red this time, and scrambles off of Derek. He bounces up, flails his arms for a wild second, straightens out his multiple layers, and then offers a hand down to Derek. He stumbles right back into Derek’s chest when Derek uses the hand to pull himself to his feet. 

"Yeah, wow, hello, sorry," he says, patting Derek’s chest again. Then he snatches his hands back and stuffs them into the pockets of his jeans.

"What were you saying?" Derek asks, brushing off his own jeans.

"Who? Me? Nothing, I wasn’t saying anything."

"Really? I could’ve sworn you yelled something just before you decided to leap out of a display wardrobe at me."

"Oh. That. Yeah, that was," and the stranger rubs at the back of his head, mumbling something under his breath that Derek doesn’t catch.

"What?"

"For Narnia!" he warbles, hands flying through the air, blush spreading down his neck. 

Derek bites down _hard_ on his bottom lip. 

"Look, okay," the stranger continues, although can Derek really keep calling him a stranger now that they’ve had an intimate moment on the floor of IKEA? "It’s a thing me and my buddy Scott do sometimes. We play hide-and-seek and try to scare the shit out of each other." Derek can feel his eyebrows raising even though he didn’t consciously tell them too. "It’s a _thing_. People do it."

Derek’s just about to point out that no, normal people usually don’t shut themselves inside wardrobes in IKEA, when he hears Peter’s voice critiquing a shelving unit around the corner.

Derek grabs desperately for the stranger’s wrist. "I will buy you and Scott a large serving of meatballs _each_ if you let me hide with you."

The stranger smiles brilliantly, tangles his fingers together with Derek’s, and pulls Derek towards a large stack of cranberry scented candles. 

(They’re standing nose to nose in one square metre of display shower when the stranger introduces himself as Stiles.)

(They’re lying huddled between a wall and a futon when Derek first meets the illusive Scott.)

(They’re making out on a child-sized bunk bed when Derek’s mom eventually finds him.)


End file.
